Case Number 04630: Small Claims Court

Dean Martin: Encore

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All Rise...

When the moon hits Judge Bill Gibron's eyes, it looks like a big English muffin.

The Charge

The eternal essence of cool.

The Case

Dean Martin was such a multi-faceted cultural icon that many have forgotten
just what he really represents, if anything. To some, he is the perfect straight
man, playing a precise game of controlled chaos with "trained ape"
partner Jerry Lewis. Others will recall a droll drunken degenerate, hand wrapped
around an ever-full glass of booze, eyeing the "broads" with bad
intent. Extrapolate out of that campy cliché and Martin becomes the randy
Rat Packer, ready with a quip and a trip to the bar to add the right amount of
life to the party presence to Old Blue Eyes's band of bad-boy brothers. Then
there is the dramatic actor, an ample performer capable of holding his own with
the likes of John Wayne and Geraldine Page. And lest we forget, there is the
perfected and polished symbol of Italian pop culture hero worship. With a
flawless Roman nose and a face like the classical forms found in frescos and
freezes around the ruins of the ancient Mediterranean city, this tall, dark, and
handsome charmer seemed so easy going and gregarious as to be readily taken for
granted.

There is no more proof of such a position than when his musical legacy is
recalled. Ask someone to name one of his many chart-toppers and the same four or
five songs are listed: the pizza pie in the sky of "That's Amore!";
the recipe for a happy outlook known as "Memories are Made of This";
the signature sonnet "Everybody Loves Somebody," or the paisan
pronouncements of "Volaré." But Martin was so much more than
this, both as an entertainer and as a musician. Passport Video wants to aid in
the appreciation of this legend with the DVD presentation, Dean Martin:
Encore.

Representing a kinescope compilation of musical moments from Dean's mid-'50s
TV shows with partner Jerry Lewis, plus a couple of clips from a Dean Martin /
Frank Sinatra / Bing Crosby special, Dean Martin: Encore is a magical and
maddening DVD package. Aside from a transfer that looks like lost footage from a
failed first attempt at transmitting the television signal from the moon, to a
Dolby Digital Mono soundtrack that washes all nuance and beauty out of the
songs, this is still a fascinating portrait of Martin as peculiar pop star.

Since his death, Martin hasn't had much solo respect foisted upon his
heritage. It seems like once the praisemobile has stopped by Tony Bennett, Frank
Sinatra, and Mel Torme's doorsteps, there is little left in the laudatory larder
for poor old Dean. Yet the images and sonics in this package suggest he deserved
at least equal, if not more of, the congratulatory vehicle's amulets of
admiration. Martin had more resonance than San Francisco's favored son, acres of
personality that surpass the Chairman's perfunctory aloofness, and a fancy way
with words that puts the Velvet Fog to shame. He combines grace with grit, the
savvy of his ethnic upbringing with the cool cat bravado that all the ladies
love. Though it's his latter days—those carefree flings with fame that
centered around the beloved Rat Pack, his mid-'60s swing-a-ding TV series
(featuring lots of bodacious babes and supposedly pickled performances), and a
host of campy feature films—that most people recall, Martin's main success
was as part of a team. Sadly, the brief shots of his act with partner Lewis
(Jerry joins his crooning cohort on the songs "You'll Never Get Away"
and "Sometimes I'm Happy") fail to indicate the full range of joy and
revelry their joint venture generated.

Indeed, most of Dean Martin: Encore fails to do the man and his muse
justice. Most of the songs sung are unrecognizable knock-offs, less than stellar
examples of mass-produced musical numbers generated to fill up nightclub,
television or stage show airtime. Sure, "Mambo Italiano," "The
Glory of Love," "Pennies from Heaven," and "Walking My Baby
Back Home" are great old tunes, but after "That's Amore!" and a
strange rendition of "La Vie En Rose," the rest of the offerings here
are head-scratchers. So is the inclusion of the Martin / Sinatra / Crosby
sing-along medley of creaky olden moldies. There is nothing novel or interesting
about hearing these classic crooners joke through "Down on the Old Mill
Stream" or "The Old Grey Mare" (where's "Little Brown
Jug" and "The Old Oaken Bucket"?). Each in his own right was a
musician of uncanny skill and subtle shading, but belting out aged chestnuts
leaves these talented titans with very little leeway to interpret or interact
(unless you call making sarcastic fun of each other witty repartee).

The aforementioned sequences with Lewis seem unstuck in entertainment time,
included to pad out the anemic near-50-minute running time of this disc. The duo
is in fine form during "Sometimes I'm Happy," both accompanied by one
of those massive choral ensembles that highlights every phrase Dean sings with
vocal gymnastics and backing. It's hilarious. And the account of Lewis's stay in
the hospital (obviously meaning he missed some shows) is alluded to during
"You'll Never Get Away." But these examples are far from Dino at his
dizziest. Better examples of his craft and charm must exist. Apparently,
Passport only had access to certain footage (can you say public domain?). This
makes Dean Martin: Encore a limited, narrowly focused, and yet still
enjoyable experience.

This is not a DVD for home theater enthusiasts, though—not by a long
shot. The sound and vision are, as said before, artifacts from a far-off,
non-preservationist mindset. Who would have thought that 50-some years after
they first aired, people would be interested in old television shows and the
people who performed in them? So we are stuck with unattractive, occasionally
almost unwatchable, faded, fuzzy, filled-with-broadcast / recording-defects
demonstrations of how lucky we are to have all the digital technology that we do
today. The images are bad. Okay, so what, right? Even if it's a black and white
1.33:1 full screen fiasco, it's the music that is most important, right?
Absolutely, and it is moreover in this aspect that Dean Martin: Encore
fails. There is nothing wrong with Dolby Digital Mono—under the right
circumstances and with lots of care taken to strip away any static or sonic
debris, a regular monaural soundtrack can really soar on DVD. But we are once
again dealing with nth generation reproduction, without any remastering
or reconfiguration. So songs swagger all over the sonic map from overly loud to
whisper quiet. Martin can be perfectly passable one moment, and so low in the
mix as to be indecipherable in another. There is lots of white noise in the
track—crackles and pops that indicate age and handling mishaps. The
transfer is terrible, all around.

Any chance we have to see some of the legends of entertainment work their
special artistic magic should be welcomed and savored. As our society moves more
and more toward the disposable and the instantly gratifying, there is a real
fear of losing our lineage. But Dean Martin: Encore is a poor excuse for
perpetuation. While Dino and his dashing debonair air make it sway and swagger,
the disastrous digital issues almost scuttle the entire project. Dean Martin was
a truly gifted performer. This DVD of selected favorites will offer only minor
musical merriment. The rest of the time it is situated solidly in the past.